


Eat You Alive

by nightimedreamer



Series: Carry on Countdown 2020 [6]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz is the sea witch, Dark Bargains, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Future First Kiss, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Simon is hot for big squid man, cause I'm a simp for her, future enemies to lovers, if you couldn't tell, love spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/pseuds/nightimedreamer
Summary: When waves rage against the cliffs and dark skies pour, steer clear from the shore.Every sailor in their right mind knows better than to defy the unrelenting winds and the furious ocean during a storm—but Simon Snow isn't in his right mind.***OR: Simon seeks to strike a bargain with a hungry sorcerer, and below the ocean's furious surface, the sailor finds much more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry on Countdown 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027081
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Eat You Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, everyone, here's another fic for the Carry on Countdown! Day 13 - Below the Surface!  
> This is slightly inspired by a book from another series - if anyone's read _The Language of Thorns_ , by Leigh Bardugo, you might find the vibes familiar to one of the dark fairy tales from that book. (It's also the story that made me simp for Ursula, so there's that.)  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 😄

_When waves rage against the cliffs and dark skies pour, steer clear from the shore._

Every sailor in their right mind knows better than to defy the unrelenting winds and the furious ocean during a storm—but Simon Snow isn't in his right mind. 

_Talk about last chances,_ he thinks, one hand held out in front of his eyes, his only protection against the cold, pouring water. He tastes salt and hopelessness at the back of his throat. 

It's difficult to trudge down the cliffs safely in the light of day, when the tide is tame and the weather is merciful. Now, as the others alerted him, it's _impossible—_ only a man with half a mind of foolishness and a death wish would try. 

Which brings Simon here. He's got no death wish, much on the contrary; but the foolishness is there. 

_Fishing for ancient magic and dark bargains, aren't we?_

One hand barely gripping the stone walls on his descent, the sailor prays to every possible deity out there—every one he's never believed in—that the fall won't hurt too much. 

_Because it's inevitable._ There's no point in denying that. 

So, he trudges and slips and curses and prays, avoiding to look at the rocks that await down there, sharp and waiting as teeth. 

Until, finally, fatefully, his hand slips, the sharp stone slicing it open as the sailor loses his grasp. 

And so he falls to the ocean's open mouth. 

*******

Beneath the twisting surface, cradled in the depths of the cliff, there's a cave. It's inaccessible by human means—the only way to get there is by being carried by a lucky current. 

_(Magic,_ say the wide-eyed sailors at the tavern, _if he wants to be found, it'll take you there.)_

Simon didn't know whether to believe them or not, but what other choice was left to him? (It was too late now, anyway.) 

It's been so long since anyone last saw the sea sorcerer that the line between truth and superstition is blurred beyond discernment. 

_If there_ is _any truth there,_ Simon thought to himself, before going out into the storm. 

Because even the vaguest truth, the lightest hope, was better than what he had. 

It's too late to think about that now, though, when he can't even brace for the fall before the ocean's arms open to take him, and away they carry him. 

*******

_There's something magic here,_ Simon thinks, as the water—warmer and calmer than expected—rushes around him, carrying him through the depths. 

There must _be_ something. The sailor holds expectation close to his heart, right beside fear and disbelief. 

Finally, just when his lungs are starting to burn, the currents deposit him on shallow water. Simon scrambles to his feet, taking a series of gasping, shallow breaths, and whipping his head around like a wet dog. Even though he's soaked through and through, Simon realises, he doesn't feel cold. 

He looks around, still panting. "Uh, hi? Anyone out there?" 

His voice echoes off the stone walls. The cave is dimly lit by blue light, and Simon can't tell where it comes from. 

It's a rather large cave, and he isn't keen on finding out what lurks in the shadows. He takes some cautious steps back, climbing up the rocks behind him, doing his best to stay out of the water. 

Just as he opens his mouth to call out again, the darkness stirs. 

Simon watches, aghast, as something dark moves below the surface. It twists swiftly, languidly, like someone spilled black ink in the water. Eventually, though, the shadow made flesh lashes out, surrounding the helpless sailor. 

It takes Simon a moment to realise it, but sure enough, the ribbons of dark lacing him are tentacles. 

Cold and smooth to the touch, they wrap around the sailor's body, rendering him immobile. But even in their cold grasp, Simon fails to feel adequately terrified. 

_He was already way outta his mind_ , his friends would say upon finding whatever was left of him in the water. _Lost to madness long before the sea sorcerer devoured him._

The thick tentacles keep wrapping around him, circling the rock, until, finally, the sorcerer emerges. 

_And he's... oh._

He's darkness incarnate. 

Though Simon never thought darkness would be this pale. Or this gorgeous, anyway. 

From the waist up, he looks like a man—an unnaturally handsome man, his pale torso well sculpted, his face composed of highs and sharps, planes and cliffs. Water drips from his eyelashes; his hair sticks to his shoulders, framing his lovely, terrifying features. It's black and long, flowing like shadows over his skin. 

He rises out of the water, tentacles lifting him to Simon's eye level—higher, even. He looks down at Simon and _smiles,_ mouth full of sharp teeth. 

_"What do we have here?"_ The coldness in his voice drips down the sailor's spine. If Simon wasn't cold before, now he's freezing. 

Suddenly, he's terribly aware of the fact that the sea sorcerer is _starving._

It's clear by the way he licks his lips, coming closer to Simon; so close that he can feel the creature's breath on his face. 

_"Aren't you so lovely?"_ Comes that voice again, this time accompanied by the light touch of cold fingers, caressing Simon's cheek. _"So foolish?"_

_Yes,_ Simon thinks. _There's no escaping him._

The raging storm outside couldn't match the beat of his heart. 

The sorcerer notices; _of course_ he does. He lets out a rumbling laugh at Simon's growing despair, and _great Neptune,_ if he thought that voice was bad before… 

His laughter sounds like thunder, like things shattering inside Simon's chest. It's terrible and enthralling and somehow _so beautiful_ at the same time.

 _I wonder if he'll laugh like that as he tears me apart._

_"What do you seek, foolish thing?"_ He asks now, close enough to slice Simon's throat open with his teeth. It makes breathing difficult. 

"I'm here to strike a bargain," the sailor answers, with all the certainty he can muster. Still, his voice sounds shallow, quivering. The sorcerer laughs again. His teeth flash in the dim light.

 _"They always come,"_ he says, his tentacles moving around Simon. _"What is it? Do you want gold? Riches, immeasurable treasures?"_

"No." 

_"What, then?"_ Comes the voice from behind him. _"I could make you king. I could give you enough power to make a nation bow at your feet."_

Simon ignores him. He was warned that the sorcerer would tempt him like that. Unless he asks for the one thing he wants—the only thing worth risking it all to get here—he's in peril. Futile things like these make it easier to manipulate one's mind, puts them at the sorcerer's mercy. But not a true wish, something that's set on Simon's heart, and he hopes his honesty will be enough to protect him. 

"I'm dying," he says, slowly. "Riches and power wouldn't serve me for long." 

The sorcerer's eyebrows draw up. _"So you ask for a cure? I can heal you from any infirmity known to attack mankind."_

Still, Simon shakes his head. "I want your help to find true love." 

Simon can only imagine how difficult it must be to stun such an ancient creature, and still, his words seem to do the trick. For a moment, the sorcerer just stares at him, cold grey eyes taking him in for the first time. 

That expression is gone from his face in an instant, replaced by a sneer. This time, when he laughs, the sound is dark and threatening. 

_"Why would you want that?"_ He asks, tentacles wrapping around Simon tightly. _"Love is such a lame thing,"_ says the sorcerer, touching Simon's face again, tracing his features with long, sharp nails. _"I could give you eternal life. I could show you—"_

"This is what I want," Simon says, resolutely. "I'm not going to bargain with you for anything else." 

The sorcerer doesn't argue with him. _"If that's what you wish,"_ he says. _"Why love, though? When you could have_ anything _you've ever wanted?"_

 _"This_ is the one thing I've always wanted," Simon says, holding his gaze. "I've never known love in my life." 

The sorcerer hums, thinking, then retreats into the water. _"There isn't much I can do for you, then. I can't grant you_ true love, _for magic_ _cannot forge such a thing."_

"What? Why not?" Simon asks as the pitch black tentacles let go of him. He should be sensible; keep his mouth shut and take this second chance he's been given to flee with his limbs still attached to his body. 

But he doesn't. After all, he's come this far already, so he might just launch himself all the way into death's arms. "Weren't you bragging about your great magic just now? What happened to those stashes of gold, those kingdoms you promised? What about—" 

The sorcerer is on him before Simon can draw another breath. This time, the tentacles close tightly around his chest, pushing the air off his lungs. He gasps and twitches against them, helplessly, a fish caught in a net. 

The sorcerer lifts him up close to his face; now, looking at his contorted lines, Simon sees the monster everyone deems him to be. 

_"I'm not sure you understand this situation well, you petulant creature."_ He grabs Simon's chin, nails digging into his flesh. _"You're alive solely because I decided to be merciful. I could destroy you in the blink of an eye. I could curse you with eternal misery. I could turn you into seaweed."_

"And still, you can't grant my wish," Simon spits with the last of his breath. 

The tentacles squeeze him tighter, so hard that he expects his bones to snap, and he coughs up blood. They loosen around him after a moment, though, and Simon draws a relieved breath. 

Maybe too early. 

_"Very well,"_ says the sorcerer, and his tone makes Simon regret ever opening his mouth. _"If love is what you want, love you shall receive."_

Simon watches, stunned, as he summons a piece of paper seemingly out of thin air. The sorcerer hands it out to Simon, offering a fish spine as a makeshift fountain pen. 

"What…?" 

_"This is our contract,"_ the sorcerer explains. _"You must sign here."_

"I have no ink," says Simon. "And we haven't discussed the price—" 

Suddenly, the sorcerer grabs his right hand—the one sliced open—and squeezes until blood pools on his palm. Simon hisses. 

_"Now you have ink,"_ he says, dipping the pen in Simon's blood. _"As for the price, it'll be discussed once you've signed."_

Simon swallows, uncertainty creeping into his heart. _Never, ever sign a contract with the sea sorcerer unless you know what you're signing for._

 _Too late to back out now,_ he thinks, scribbling _Simon Snow_ at the bottom of the page. 

The sorcerer draws the contract back, examining it for a moment. Then, unceremoniously, he presses his own clawed finger to Simon's palm and signs his own name. The sailor catches a glimpse of his name: _Tyrannus Bas—_

And then the contract is sealed. It glows brightly in the darkness for a moment. 

_"It's done,"_ says the sorcerer. 

Simon watches, mouth agape. "You have a human name." 

That makes the creature chuckle quietly, which is, somehow, even more unnerving than before. 

_"In fact, I was born in human lands. But that was a long time ago."_ He approaches Simon, handing him the paper. _"While this contract holds, love will find its way to you."_

Simon nods. "And what about the price?" 

The sorcerer _—Tyrannus—_ flashes him a smile full of sharp teeth, and Simon knows he's done for. 

_"Now, this won't be a bargain like any other,"_ he says, tentacles twisting on the water _. "Because you doubted my power, we'll make an experiment out of this."_

"How so?" 

_"My magic will guarantee that you find love,"_ he continues. _"Maybe someone will fall for you; maybe it'll be the other way around. In the end, we'll see if whatever you get is_ truthful _enough."_

Simon frowns. "I don't understand." 

Tyrannus gets even closer to him. _"If you find that your love is true, then you're free to go and live happily until the end of your days, no payment required,"_ he says. _"But if your love proves to be superficial and crumbles before the easiest trials, well…"_

Simon cowers at his wicked grin. "Then I pay?" 

The sorcerer leans into him, placing his face in the crook of Simon's neck, cold breath tickling his ear, right hand splayed over his chest. _"With your heart."_

The sailor's breath hitches, and he feels his heart rate pick up under Tyrannus's hand, sharp nails piercing his skin. 

"I—you didn't _—why?"_ Simon stutters, feeling dread claw at his insides. 

Tyrannus simply smiles—not the feral contortion from before, but a rather genuine smile. _"Because it's been a long time since I've had anyone to bargain with,"_ he says, cupping Simon's cheek in a way that is almost tender, _"and it'll be fun to toy with you, while it lasts."_

_That's what I am, then,_ Simon realises. _Just a puppet on his strings, a diversion._

_Too late, too late, too late,_ the voices of his friends chant in his head. _You were warned, you were warned—_

Simon smells magic in the air—a smokey and woodsy scent, like lightning hitting trees—and then the tentacles vanish around him, dropping him into the water like they were made of smoke all along. 

As the currents reclaim him, Simon hears Tyrannus's deep voice once more: _"You were warned."_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! 😆💞 I hope you liked my 100% self-indulgent dark fairy tale (sort of).  
> I think this fic stands well by itself, though I really liked writing it, so I might come back to this universe in the future!  
> Title is from the song "Eat you alive", by The Oh Hellos, and while this is *not* a songfic, I think its vibes fit this fic well!  
> Finally, you can always find me on Tumblr at [nightimedreamersworld.](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)


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